Battle Poem by elysabeth faslund

Father...do not worry for me today. Sleep for a time, as I.
Gather the Cedars and Rock around you.
Be content.
Be still for a short while.
I have gathered branches of Yew and Water of the Mother...
I have gathered History and compassions of Women
Who stand guard under evergreens in Winter. I have found
The Rowan Tree.

Father...do not guilt me with future knowledge. I learned...
Of children, who run under the darkness of Osiris,
Brave to play in rain that has showered madmen. Children
Who do not know that skulls smile, that water redeems
Without Baptism. That everYou loved them.

Father...do not send my mother. Dead trees do not give
Shelter. Nor rocks, water. I drown content. Do not interupt.
Stay as you are...fragments and laughter.
Do not send the woman of dry plains and dust...spiders and
Guile. Beads and acid...she would
Surrender.

Father...send the Unicorn that did not die, the white raven, and
A martyr who does not rule from the tomb...I have Battles to
Attend...Predators to contain...Foundations and Pits.

Father...do not worry for me. Today. Perhaps tomorrow, when
The Beast escapes and becomes...
Roses.
When Hell disappears, and there is only Heaven. Dealing with
Only Angels is dangerous. In that Heaven is darkness...and
Demons of innocence.

Father...there is Battle at hand. Know that I have slept under the
Hills of Changlings...worn Gold.
Drowned in the waters of unfortunate captains and whistling
Dolphins. Drowned in the folly of waiting women, taken to foam
And tides.
Do not ask.

Gather to the Cedars and Rock. Rest for a short while. Be content.
Women stand guard for you under the darkness of trees. I have
Sent the Mother to watch.
I know where you are. Be content. Do not worry or ask.
I wear Ancient Armor.

It will be Time, shortly.
I stand under the evergreens, waiting and watching.
The Lady of the Rowan Tree stands near, watching...
Waiting.
Father...Battle is at hand.
Father...it is Time.